


Good Morning

by Gabby



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Breakfast, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Morning After, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:16:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabby/pseuds/Gabby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or Amy wakes up the morning after an unexpected night, internally freaks out, and then lets her mind wander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Me and my weird ideas. It's just the beginning, folks. I promise you. You'll see. Stay tuned! ;)

The first thing to enter her thoughts is a lot of confusion. Like, _a lot, a lot_.

  She's _naked_ , first of all. And there's someone behind her. Holding her. Well, _spooning_ her, more like. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her middle. Muscled thigh pressing a knee between her legs. Big nose buried in her hair. Pair of soft, almost plush lips echoing a caress to the back of her neck.

Not to mention, the equally naked, _very_ male frame caging her in from behind. As if, even in sleep, he's hesitate to let her go.

But, ultimately, it's the _smell_ that does it for her.

It smells like a boudoir. Like, rich and deeply perfumed. The best kind of after sex scent surrounding her - which, yeah, all evidence point to her having had some _recently_ because her mind is still in a post-coital haze and there's an overworked, kind of _wonderful_ ache in certain parts of her body that she recognizes only vaguely - and okay, it may seem a little gross because _eww_ but, it's not. Usually, it is. But, it's not now.

Her favorite part about it though? _His_ scent. That combination of masculine musk and a hint of cologne that she really sorta loves.

It also cements the fact that, up until now, had been a fantasy in the deepest recesses of her mind: She, Amy Santiago, is naked and in bed with none other than Jake Peralta. She's naked and in bed with Jake Peralta after having had sex with him the night before.

And _oh_.

Oh.

Oh boy.

She wills herself not to panic. Not to overthink this. But, it's hard and there's been those god awful, uncertain six months yet, she feels, even now, that she's wanted this forever and it's happened and she doesn't know what to do now.

She gets pulled out of her thoughts when she feels the man behind her shift. His grip tightening. That nose nuzzling and sliding from her hair towards the side of her neck. Fingers pressing into her skin.

Her breath catches and she thinks he's probably still asleep 'til she feels his lips pass over her ear, his voice gruff with arousal and sleep. "G'morning."

She stiffens.

She doesn't _mean_ to but, she does.

She can feel his hot breath over her face. His lips kissing her cheek and neck.

She has no idea how to handle this until his fingers press her more backwards into him and _there_ he is, already hard and wanting her, and though her gut clenches in response. Her insides fluttering and hunger flaring... She can't still that bundle of nerves. That echo of anxiety.

It's stupid, okay? It's stupid to be nervous still. She's a grown woman! Not some teenaged virgin! An adult woman with experience, dammit!

(Well, enough experience. Like, just enough. She's not maneater of the world. Nor is she Mother Teresa. Just, you know - _anyway_ , moving on...)

But, even still, it's Jake. And she's wanted this - _god_ , she's wanted this - and it hadn't hit her just how much until the night before.

She'd been so oblivious and blind to this for so long that it had felt amazing to finally let go. To let herself have and feel and to-

She gets so lost in thought that she lets out a small cry when two broad fingers slide easily into her. A tongue licking the dip of her collarbone and shoulder.

"Stop thinking so much." She hears him warn her, his cock teasing her entrance from a titillating angle. Her leg elevated up and over his hip.

She lets out a hissing breath instead of responding like a normal human being. His fingers moving freely inside her. The lift of her leg giving him reign to do so as he presses the head of himself to where he's working her languidly.

Her mouth hangs open in a silent scream at the stretch and ensuing fullness of him opening her up. A rough sound of surrender leaving the man starting to move within her and as he turns her face to kiss her deeply, effectively hazing up her thoughts, the last one to come 'round is this:

Yeah, okay. Her words can wait.

 

 

 

  The next time she wakes up, it's with her eyes blinking into the slight blare of sunlight peaking out of the lace linen of her curtains, already feeling it in her bones that she's somehow slept the day away - which is so _unlike_ her - yet as she peaks behind her to see her sleeping bedmate, she also can't help but, realize how worth it that had been.

Oh dear god, was it worth it.

And as she gazes at Jake's sleeping face, she finds it difficult to _not_ be alarmed by that warm, fuzzy feeling that's been haunting her since he'd walked away from her life in that cool parking lot to risk his own for the safety of others.

 _God_ , her life.

She thinks bout it. Real hard. Thinking about how it'd been barely _six in a half_ months since he'd done that. Told her his feelings. Since she had examined, quite _obsessively_ , every square inch of their partnership. Since she'd, a few weeks following it, had broken up with a perfectly nice, decent man who would _never_ in a million years break a single rule to still work a case his captain had demanded he let go of.

Nor go deep undercover in one of the most dangerous crime families in the Tri-State area without a second thought to what might happen.

Which, in hindsight, is _probably_ why she'd ended it.

Which may very well be really stupid and there are a lot more reasons than that but, it's how she feels.

It'd been great while it lasted. _He'd_ been great.

But, he hadn't been - is _still not_ , to her knowledge - Jake.

(Great. Just great. That now basically encapsulates that whole relationship. Great. Simple... Where as with Jake, she can think of _soo_ much more than that...)

And however happy she might have been is nothing compared to the _feeling_ in her chest as she looks at the man sleeping in her bed right now. The long, lean line of his jaw. The charming purse of his mouth as he slumbers. The flutter of dark lashes on his cheekbone. The curl of his fists on his pillow.

That and...? She allows her eyes to travel along the expanse of strong, lean muscle corded beneath firm skin that remains smooth and flawless save for the dusting of darkening hair along his forearms and most of his chest-slash-abdomen area that also holds a long, jagged pink scar along that forms from his hip up towards his sculpted torso.

(She's enjoying this. She _gets_ to enjoy this now. Because the night before, it'd been all raw, animalistic passion and rough skin-on-skin contact in the dark. Nothing like this morning with slow, torturous affection and _loving_ attention.)

Goddammit. She really doesn't wanna leave. She wants to stay here, in this room, and run her palms over that peaceful, handsome face of his and slide a curious fingertip over that new scar. Ask him about it maybe.

But, she also really needs to pee and it feels like she hasn't eaten in forever.

So, instead, she carefully gets up and finds something to wear - tanktop, underwear, and Jake's blue plaid shirt, because why not keep it simple? - sneaking quietly around her own bedroom to head to the bathroom and then the kitchen.

Not surprisingly, she finds one stale cereal box and nothing but, a suspiciously looking kiwi fruit in her fringe.

Okay. So, she maybe, might have, known way before that disastrous Thanksgiving that she's really not the best cook - oblivious to think herself kind if good but, _hmm_ \- so, she really shouldn't be that surprised of the state of her food supply.

I really need to go grocery shopping.

After a while, she's able to find a relatively new box of pancake mix, setting about washing her not oft-used griddle and then placing it on her burner to get to make her and Jake some breakfast because she can't possibly screw up pancakes.

Right?

Turns out she's correct in her assumptions and a little while later, she's already placed two perfectly good griddle creations - weirdly shaped but, whatever - into her abuelita's ceramic pancake warmer and is working on two more when suddenly the air grows musky sweet and her insides tighten up and she knows he's there right before two strong, able hands cradle her hips and upend her into a firm, male body.

"'Morning again." She hears him murmur into her skin, arms wrapping around her waist.

She exhales as he nips her ear, pressing her backwards into his front and even through the two poor layers of clothes she has on, Amy can feel him, warm and still naked, on her. "Hey." She greets in response, mentally patting herself on the back at the steadiness in her voice. "I'm making pancakes-"

"Mmm." He hums, tugging at her earlobe and holding her tighter. "Sounds good."

"T-The pancakes or...?"

"You." He answers her unfinished question, pressing teeth into her neck now, the sensation sending a burst of heat through her. Her breath catching. "Just you."

She can feel everything. His breath gusting over her hair. The tip of his nose nuzzling up and down the nape of her neck. Calloused fingers digging into his own shirt to get to her skin. That sizable erection nudging at her from behind.

It's the last part that gives her pause.

Because she can't. She just can't.

She'd _really_ enjoyed having sex with him. Both the many rounds last night and the two sessions this morning.

But, really, seriously, if they keep going like this, she's gonna need a stretcher or something because there will be a _legit_ concern of her being able to walk if they go again because yeah.

(She's not even exaggerating. It had taken at least  _two_ tries to get him inside her last night. And when they'd succeeded, she had felt like she'd deserved a goddamn medal.)

"Okay. Okay." She's able to say, batting at his hands on her until he lets up, backing off with something she's sure is a pout on his lips. "Don't look at me like that. I'm very flattered. But, I'm also starving." She gestures with as much nonchalance as she can muster towards his general anatomy (all that general, beautiful, muscle-y - oh, oh  _Christ_ ) with her spatula. "Go put on some pants."

She laughs when he mutters that she's _no fun_ before going on his way.

And apparently, he gets how distracting he is while naked because he decides take mercy on her and comes back in not only borrowed pajama pants she'd directed him to find in a drawer she keeps just case one of her brothers has to crash one night or another and the heather grey t-shirt she'd somehow managed to not rip off his body the night before - _passion_ , she tells you, _passion_ \- and settles himself onto her breakfast bar as she slides still hot griddle cakes onto his plate.

She doesn't know what to expect because she's done everything in the past to avoid cooking for boyfriends - god, is he her boyfriend now? oh jesus - and Jake is the worst at pretending he likes something when he most definitely does not and so she knows that the moan of appreciation he lets out as he takes his first bite is very real. Feeling inexplicably pleased at him enjoying her attempt at making food for him, even from a box.

Even her generic breakfast skills are sub-par at best.

"Good?"

"Mmm-hmm." He murmurs nonsensically and gives her a thumps up.

She watches him dig in more into his food and only twiddles hers around her plate some as she thinks about last night, for the thousandth time. The sight of him stealing her breath after showing up on her doorstep after six months of no contact. The automatic impulse to kiss him. Re-submerging herself with him. Then getting to know aspects of him she'd never thought she could before. His lips. His scent. The feeling of his freshly shaved jaw on her palms. The slide of his tongue on hers...

...And _everything_ that had followed.

"Stop staring at me, creep." He says without looking up, after several minutes of her gazing at him and completely losing track of time.

She ducks her head, face burning, and re-directing her eyes to her own plate. "I wasn't staring." She mumbles.

"Yes. You were."

"No, I-"

"Was to."

She won't do it. She won't get pulled into these immature shenanigans.

She won't.

Then.

"Was not."

"Was not."

Was to."

"Was not."

Was to."

"Was not."

"Was not."

"Was t-"

She cuts herself off after quickly realizing his little trick and tries glaring at him like she normally would in this kind of situation as he gets up with a smug grin to go wash their dishes, whistling to himself in such a manner that would have once been insufferable but, that is now... well, she's not as annoyed, she'll say _that_ , at least.

But, she can fake her ass off though, can't she?

(Well, she actually really can't, now that she thinks about it. But, she can try.)

"Stop frowning. Your face is gonna stuck that way." He teases as he steps in front of her, wiping his hands on one of her tea towels and she has an urge to laugh at the sight of Jake Peralta, badass NYPD cop, standing her kitchen and drying his hands on a tea towel with a printed 'Keep Calm & Carry On' emblem on it.

She tamps it down instead and continues to give him a sour look. "You're a jerk-"

Before she can finish her insult though, he's leaning down and in, giving her a kiss. Not at all passionate. No tongue or teeth. Yet it's steady and firm. His lips soft and pillow-y. The hand at the nape of her neck strong and still as she complies just a little bit to his attentions and finds herself hard of breath after he pulls away. Keeping close and peering into her eyes, sliding that hand from the back of her neck towards her face, thumb stroking the bone under her cheekbone.

"Are you done being mad at me now?"

After a minute she nods, but says. "You can't do that to get your way."

"Why? You seemed to enjoy it."

"I most certainly did n-"

Again, he completely cuts her off with his mouth. And this time it is _very_ passionate. And his tongue is _very_ much involved now. And then he's grabbing her, hauling her up from her kitchen stool, to his body and as they become flush together, she could swear she can _feel_ a pleased rumble echoing from his chest. His arms surrounding her and her moan of surrender causing him to turn the kiss into something infinitely, _profoundly_ dirty and she loves it.

She loves that she could make him lose his mind like this.

She loves that he desires her like this.

She also enjoys his _impatience_ , she realizes, as he lifts her in his arms and places her on the kitchen counter, sliding an eager hand up her thigh towards the line of her underwear.

She's gonna have to place an order for a stretcher.

Because this is most certainly happening again.

And god if she's _ever_ gonna stop it now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
